


Melancholia

by SaintFrancis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abandonment, Anal Sex, Beacon Hills Java, Depression, Loneliness, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 18:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3860293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaintFrancis/pseuds/SaintFrancis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is depressed and finds comfort in the arms of a hot wolfman.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Melancholia

**Author's Note:**

> This is still pretty rough, but I'd appreciate your comments. Be gentle please. I'll be editing and rewriting over the coming week.
> 
> First time writing a sex scene. Not sure I got it right.

It was a bright Saturday afternoon and Stiles couldn’t get out of bed. He was fried.  All he could do was lay there, while a slow, but steady stream of tears moistened his face.

Over the course of the last week, he’d graduated from high school, and seen Scott leave town on a cross country road trip with the wolves from his pack. 

 _Thanks for the invite, old buddy_. 

He had packed his Dad up for two week-long seminar and driven Allison and Lydia to the airport for their vacation in Cancun. On the way home, Stiles had sharply jerked the wheel of his Jeep to avoid hitting a deer, causing the vehicle to flip and roll it into a shallow ravine.

The driver of a closely following car called 911. The cops and EMS were quick to arrive.  They checked him out and pronounced him bruised but okay. A sheriff deputy drove him home and hung around for a few hours to ensure that the boss man's son was fine.

He laid in bed wondering how he had gone from celebrating a major milestone to being alone, bruised and exhausted.

Normally he’d rise to the challenge, but something was off. His head didn’t feel right. His mind had slowed. The few thoughts that did come were dark and isolating.  Stiles for the first time in his adult life had slid into depression. 

Deaton had warned him a couple years earlier that young adults with rapid-fire minds would sometimes inexplicably crash. Deaton explained that such depressions were likely not signs of mental illness, but an indication that the brain simply needed time to reset before life’s next hurdles were challenged.

He looked at his clock.  _Fucking 1:37. Time to move._ He stumbled to the bathroom and pissed.  He threw hot water on his face, brushed his teeth, donned a fresh T- shirt and jeans, and plodded to the kitchen.  _Movement was progress, wasn’t it?_

From what little research he had done online about depression, he knew movement could be a key.  Sometimes, not always, it offered a way out, or at least pointed to a door that led to the long hall that led to a way out.

He needed coffee, and thought some caffeine might spark something, anything.  He hopped in the Civic that a friend of his father’s, another deputy, had lent to him, and drove to Beacon Hills Java.  _Got to say this about the Sheriff’s Department, they do take care of their own._

He walked inside and was greeted by the longtime owner, a guy whose name he normally remembered. “Afternoon Stiles,” the owner said, “the usual?  Double nonfat cap?”

“Yeah, that will do, thanks.”

He paid, went to his favorite booth overlooking Main, and stared out the window.  His mind drifted, focusing first on the planters the city had recently placed on the sidewalk.  Then he noticed the cracks in the sidewalk, trip hazards he thought, then potholes, and the peeling paint on the light posts.  _Good god, this is awful._

“Here you go,” the owner said as he placed the drink in front of his longtime customer.  “You doing okay buddy?  You don’t look so good.”

Stiles pulled his gaze away from the window, “Thanks. Yeah.  I’m doing fine. I just went to bed too late.” _Good enough cover_. _Like the dude actually gives a shit_. 

His gaze returned to the window. Small sips of the coffee reminded him of the need for the warmth that was missing from his life.   

Derek had been at Beacon Hills Java for a little over an hour, scanning the newspaper and thumbing through the coffeehouse’s well-stocked collection of old magazines.  Although he was sitting in a corner, away from the other patrons, he was a bit surprised that Stiles hadn’t seen him.  He’d had already fortified himself for the onslaught. _“Hey Derek.  All’s well? No, I haven’t heard from Scott. I see you didn’t bother to shave today. I couldn’t get away with that myself. I don’t have the facial hair to pull off the scruffy look.  I’d look, you know, more like a dog with mange.  No insult intended.”_

He pushed back from his table and walked over to where Stiles was sitting.  “What’s up?” 

Stiles turned from the streetscape to find himself staring at Derek’s crotch, tightly packed in black jeans.  _Wolf junk_.

“Coffee.”

“Got that,” Derek replied.  “Anything else?”

“Not really.”

“You here by yourself?”

“That’s pretty obvious, Derek.”

“What the deal Stiles?  Why the attitude?”

“Not looking for company, I guess.”

“Don’t need to be told twice,” Derek said, turning away and walking out the door.

Stiles watched the wolf walk out, and couldn't help but notice Derek's firm ass and power thighs. He turned back to the window to hide the tears that had begun to flow again.

\-----------

Derek headed back to his apartment after the encounter and called a wolf friend living in San Francisco. During the the call, Scott buzzed in.  “McCall?”

“I need you to check on Stiles.  I’ve called him a few times and he’s not calling me back.”

“Ran into him at Beacon Hills Java an hour ago.”

“And?”

“And, what?”

“How was he?  He always picks up when I call?  I know his dad is out of town this week.  Just checking on my friend.”

“He’s an ass.”

“What do you mean he’s an ass?

“He wasn’t talking much. Told me to take a hike.”

“Well, Derek, do you think the fact that Stiles is not talking may be worthy of a little investigation? Deaton mentioned that there’s been recent Druid activity in the area.”

“Tell you what McCall, I’ll check on him this afternoon. Feel better?”

“With that attitude, not particularly. Derek, don’t be an ass. Check on him, make sure he’s doing okay, and give me a buzz after you see him.”

“I told you I’d check. I’ll check.” Derek hung up and left Scott listening to a silence.

\----

Derek parked his Camaro in the Stilinski driveway. No need to leave it on the street where it could get swiped by some kid on a bike, or clipped by an elderly woman driving a too big Cadillac.  He walked to the front porch and knocked. No response. 

Derek jumped to the second story and climbed into Stiles bedroom through the window.  “Stiles,” he yelled.

Stiles exited the bathroom and yelled, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“McCall wanted me to check on you. I’m checking.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Stiles replied.

“McCall thinks you are under the spell of a Druid.”

“Scott can go fuck himself.”

“Thought that myself.”

Stiles' mouth edged up into a slight smile.

“You okay?”

“Fine, just feeling tired, that’s all.”

“Yeah. And?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles responded sarcastically. “Perhaps it has something to do with wrecking my Jeep and my friend being shits.” 

“That's all?”

“That’s it, well, that, and nobody is here,” Stiles said as he turned away and started to cry.

Derek looked at the young man, remembering what it was like when he lost so much in the fire.  “Stiles, come here and sit on the bed.”

Stiles complied and Derek sat down next to him.

“Life sucks and you have to solider through,” Derek said.

“Derek, if you tell me I have to pull myself up by my bootstraps, I swear to you, I’ll wolfbane your ass.”

“I pull myself up all the time.”

“Yeah it doesn’t seem to be working for me,” Stiles said through a rivulet of tears.

“Stiles, I get the Jeep. I get that McCall is out of town. There's bound to be something else.”

“Derek, I don’t fucking know. I feel like shit. I can’t think. I’m alone.  I’m crying all the time.  I don’t feel like I have anything to look forward to.”

“You’re depressed,” Derek said. 

“Bingo.”

“Been there before.  It is a bitch.”

Through a sob, Stiles halting asked, “What do I do about it?”

Derek reached around Stiles, pulled him into his chest and held him as he cried. “Not much really. Day-to-day.”

 “I hate that my mind isn’t working.”

“Blessing to some,” Derek said flatly.

Derek pushed the young man away from his chest and stared.  _He really is bad shape._ Derek hated that he perceived Stiles as being weak. He knew that depression was usually biologically based. He was also confused. He was repulsed by Stiles' depression, yet drawn to his vulnerability _._ “What if I hang around a bit? Maybe cook you some food? Watch a little TV?”

“Go.”

“You made the mistake thinking that I was actually giving you choice.” 

Derek went downstairs, returning 10 minutes later with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast only to find Stiles back in bed. He shook the bed, jostling Stiles out of a nap.

“Eat,” Derek said, handing Stiles the plate and sitting down next to him.

Stiles took a few bites. “Not really hungry. I just want to go back to bed.” Stiles put the plate on the bedside table, turned his back to the wolf, and pulled the covers over his head. 

“Look Stiles.  You’re not staying in bed.”

Stiles clinched the blankets tighter over his head.

Derek decided to take a more aggressive tact.  He grabbed the blankets from the young man’s hands and stripped them off of the bed. “Come on Stiles. Get up.”

“Not happening.”

Derek grabbed Stiles by the shirt, pulling his deadweight body out of bed.  Stiles' thin T-shirt ripped in his hands and the young man fell shirtless back on to the mattress. Derek looked at the shirtless torso and felt a tightness build in his pants.  Nobody in Derek's life was as frustrating to deal with as Stiles.  He's a hyper pain when he's on, and  anchored resistance when he's off.  

 “If you don’t get out of bed, I’m going to join you.”

Stiles glanced at the wolf through a stream of tears, patted the mattress, taunting the wolf by feigning an invitation that Stiles believed Derek surely didn’t want.

To Stiles’ surprise,  Derek climbed into the bed, slid next to Stiles and spooned him. “Satisfied,” Derek said sarcastically.

For the first time in two days, Stiles felt comforted. The tears stopped and his mind started to race. _Oh fuck, what have I gotten myself into?  Derek is hot, but I'm not sure I want the wolf in my bed.  What would Scott think of this, or my dad?  Damn, Derek smells good.  Love the hairy chest and the scruff.  Oh, man, this is kind of nice. Is that a rabbit in your pocket or you happy to see me?_

Derek felt Stiles mood shift and his own feelings toward the young man had softened, “Does this feel better?”

“Yeah Derek, it feels nice. I needed to know I wasn’t alone.”

Derek traced his left hand down Stiles’ exposed torso to the waist of the young man’s jeans.  “And, Stiles, does this make you feel better?”

Stiles replied by pressing his body back into Derek’s.

Derek kissed Stiles on the neck, while pushing his hand into Stiles’ pants.  He found his cock firm and leaking.

“Stilinski,” Derek said as he deftly unbuttoned and unzipped Stiles’ jeans, “I think we may have found a solution to your problems.”

Stiles turned to face the wolf, kissed him, and the motioned for Derek to remove his clothes. Stiles shimmied out of his jeans and underwear. The two were face to face, entirely exposed.  Stiles leaned over, first kissing Derek on the mouth and then the chest. He licked a line between his pecs down to his belly. His mouth landed on the head of wolf’s cock. He worked the head with his tongue before moving on to the veiny shaft. He took one of Derek's balls into mouth, sucking it and then releasing it before moving on the the other.  He licked his way back up to Derek's cockhead, savoring both the tastes and smells.  He sucked Derek for a few minutes, until Derek reached down and gently pulled his head away.

Derek guided Stiles’ mouth back to his own. The wolf explored it with his tongue, while his hands worked Stiles’ wirey body, playing the young man’s cock with his right hand and teasing his ass with the left. 

Derek whispered the word “lube.” Stiles reached into his bedside stand and tossed a bottle of body lotion to Derek. _  
_

Derek positioned Stiles on his back and lifted Stiles' long legs so they rested against his shoulders. Derek fingered Stiles’ exposed ass, lathering it with lotion. He lubed his cock and angled it for entry.  He pressed slowly against the tightness of Stiles’ hole.  Stiles relaxed slowly, allowing Derek to inch forward until his cock was fully embedded. Derek pulled back gently, relishing warmth and moisture. He pushed forward again as Stiles let out a low-pitched "yeah" that indicated both pain and pleasure. Derek slow-fucked Stiles for a few minutes.  He looked at the Stiles' face for a sign that he was ready for more more vigorous thrusting.  Stiles gave it with a smile.

Derek was built for endurance and left it up to Stiles to call time.  After 10 minutes of piston-hard driving, the wolf panted, “I can cum if you want me to or go longer. Your call.”  Stiles nodded.  Derek reached for the bottle of lotion, squeezed some into his hand and grabbed Stiles’ cock.  He stroked it in rhythm with his thrusts until he felt Stiles’ back arch.   They came at together, leaving them tired and sweaty. Neither made an effort to clean-up, opting instead for heated afterplay.

They were interrupted by Derek’s phone.  Derek reached for jeans, pulling the phone out the pocket. “Yeah?” 

"McCall, he’s fine.  Yeah, I’m going to hang with him to make sure there’s no Druid activity. Sure.  Check in tomorrow.  I’ll be here, sleeping on the couch.”

Stiles smiled, knowing that for at least the next day he had found, if not a cure for depression, certainly a distraction to ward it off. 

 


End file.
